The Communal Story Thread

Plechazunga

Grammar partisan who sleeps with a real life Ryan
Joined
May 5, 2003
Messages
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Where Albert Stubbins scored a diving header
Consequences, or whatever you call it. But respect the rules....or else I'll send an elite squad of posters to make your life a misery by following you round the forum rubbishing your opinions and calling you gay.

The rules are:

1. One person posts a sentence. A cocking sentence, not a paragraph. Doesn't have to be one LINE, but one SENTENCE, alright thickos out there? Doesn't have to be a complete sentence either, could be a word.

2. You can't reply to your own post. If you do it gets boring. Unless it's 3am and it's just you and Van in here, try to let a few people post before you, you cnut. Second thoughts if it's just you and Van, you can break this rule.

3. Don't make it too fecking random...if every line's random surreal shit, Rams will enjoy it but no-one else will.

4. Try not to post really crap things.

5. If the Obscenity Quotient seems to be falling, rectify the situation. Stan is in charge of this if it starts not getting out of hand.

6. If you insist on posting other shit that's not in the story, like spastic comments along the lines of "I wuz goin 2 say that!" or "LMAO", make the story bit bold so people don't have to read the other shite.

Thank you, you bunch of cnuts.

Right...er...

Once upon a time there was a big fat man called 26th May 1999, who used to drink beer in a shed in Warrington all day.
 
Plechazunga said:
Consequences, or whatever you call it. But respect the rules....or else I'll send an elite squad of posters to make your life a misery by following you round the forum rubbishing your opinions and calling you gay.

Once upon a time there was a big fat man called 26th May 1999, who used to drink beer in a shed in Warrington all day.
Click to expand...



And for the current spastics who suffer this fate anyway, if you break the rule robbo will eat your eyes

The fat bloke decided to go on a diet, after becoming annoyed at the abuse his postal colleagues gave him on a daily basis..."You fat fecker", "You big, fat, feckin cnut" and "You're the fattest feckin cnut I've ever seen and I'm an American" being prime examples
 
Happy in his shed, 26's only communication with the outside world, save for the occasional foray to Asda for more Tennants Super, was on internet forums.
 
He was heavily marshalled by his wife, who gave him 5-pound pocket money a week to spend on fry-ups.
 
So 26 went off is way down the slums of Warrington looking for a caffateria, when all of a sudden he saw a Tesco's delivery van speeding down the road at 2mph.
 
"I'm sick of all this name calling" he thought "I know, I'll go on a diet and get myself a personal trainer from Redcafe"
 
Storytelling can get a bit disjointed if everyone speaks at the same time, he thought to himself...as the Tesco driver shouted "Out the way you porky motherfecker"
 
"You cheeky little spiky haired prick" shouted the postie "Is that my internet order of beer you've got there? 'kin three days to deliver it you cnut, where'd you bring it from, 'kin Bristol?"
 
"Feck you fat cnut" the spiky haired driver replied "At least we don't lose it like Royal Mail....you probably work there, judging by how fat you are....you fat feck"
 
Just as Simon the Driver and 26 were about to have a fisty cuffs, a whore approched them from the pavement. "Two pond and I'll give you the time of your life!" said Liz.
 
Upon realising his (not so) hidden homosexual tendancies, 26th decided to ditch the postie job & get himself down the docks to start work in his new career as a paid cock-gobbler for sailors.
 
Having earned only sixpence in his first week as a cock gobbler 26th decided a new career was in order.
 
"Get the fecking chip pan on 26" said Davo. "I haven't eaten since the Everything-in-the-shop burger I had 15 minutes ago and I'm kin hank marvin"
 
"What's that missile-shaped thing in the sky?" said Weaste suddenly, dropping his chip pan, and also his trousers, in the hope that the hot fat would grease his shithole enough for him to be buggered by an oncoming terrorist projectile.
 
Good this!

It's getting exciting, and I'm getting a hard on!
 
Meanwhile, in a far distant corner of Mongolia, Spin was packing the last of the collected panda shit into his knapsack.
 
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